


Restless

by pyroblast



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Other, Short, nothing really happens, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyroblast/pseuds/pyroblast
Summary: Just a short thing I wrote one night when I was feeling really down. Found it earlier today at the bottom of another document.





	Restless

**Author's Note:**

> This is presumably taking place before Suramar? After Halduron has already joined the Unseen Path.

Rommath couldn’t sleep. His thoughts were racing, a jumble of emotions and worries and problems too complicated to set in to order. The past few days had been a blur of intense meetings, arguments with Lor’themar, endless correspondence. There was so much he had to do before he could leave and join the fight himself. So many people needing his advice, his signature, his time…

Giving up, he threw back the covers. If sleep wouldn’t claim him then what was the point in just lying there, thinking himself around in circles? With a wave of his hand he lit the lamps around his room, bathing it in a dim golden glow. The cat asleep at the end of his bed looked up, seeming to scowl at the disturbance.

He rubbed behind her ears by way of an apology. She made a low rumble of contentment, shifting around briefly and going back to sleep.

Unsure what to do with himself, Rommath paced the floor restlessly. He could read. He snatched up a book, long discarded. Flopping onto his divan, he thumbed through to find where he left off. Barely a paragraph in he realised he wasn’t taking in any of the words. Dumping the book on the floor he got to his feet again. He felt frustrated. His mind was so full and so busy that he couldn’t focus, his body had been so tense for so long that he was beginning to think he might never relax again.

Another idea: a snack. You could never go wrong with a snack. Although he lived alone (not counting the cats) he found himself sneaking to the kitchen. Perhaps a habit from his childhood, when his mother would scold him for his midnight feasts. The kitchen was painfully under-stocked. He’d been taking most of his meals at the Spire. Giving up on stealth, he started raking through the cupboards like a man possessed, suddenly fixed on the idea of finding something to eat (he wasn’t even hungry). He managed to turn up some flour, an unlabelled jar of seasoning he could not remember buying, and a single raw onion from the darkest recesses of the pantry. It was his own fault for not doing any shopping, but he decided to blame the food itself for being inadequate. Furious, he picked up the onion and threw it full-force at the wall opposite.

Anger abating, he felt a little bit of shame. Picking up the offensive onion, he opened a cupboard at random and shoved it right to the back, out of sight. Back to his room. Back to where he started.

Climbing back into bed, he felt himself panic slightly. What if this was to be his existence now, never settled enough to engage with anything, always too busy, always…no. He shook himself. It was no use adding yet another layer of anxiety to his already mountainous pile of stresses. With Halduron already gone, he and Lor’themar were having to add his work to theirs. He had to wonder how Lor was going to cope when he himself inevitably had to leave.

Waving his hand again, he extinguished all the lights. Lying on his back, he stared at the drapes above him, lost in thought. He wondered if Lor’themar was having as much difficulty sleeping as he was. He wondered if he was wondering about him. Doubtful. But perhaps he was.


End file.
